


A Gentleman and a Scholar

by theclaravoyant



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: D/s, F/M, Masterbation, Oral, PWP, Smut, Soft BDSM, Toys, blowjob
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2018-12-01 02:12:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11476443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclaravoyant/pseuds/theclaravoyant
Summary: FitzSimmons smut, in which they experiment with Dom/sub dynamics and "soft bdsm". Rated M/E.Most recent chapter: Fitz practices dirty talk.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, this was an extremely popular prompt, and when The FitzSimmons Network (on tumblr) prompted "tempted" right at the beginning of the Engineering vs Biochem challenge - well, it was meant to be!
> 
> I'm open to more chapters along this theme. You're welcome to prompt me here or on tumblr. I reserve the right to turn down prompts but [here](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/ApplePie_BananaMilkshakes/profile#faq) are some guidelines for my general approach to smut if you're interested.

It took a while to get here, to get them both to a place where they could trust themselves and each other enough to try this, but the smouldering look in Fitz’s eyes when they did sent a shiver through Jemma and all she knew in that moment was _it’s worth it._  

Fitz was cupping her cheeks, firmly enough that she could feel his fingers pressing into her skin, digging through her hair to feel her. She didn’t know how he could do it without grinning; the loose ends were tickling her bare flesh, and breathing the same hot air as him was making her a little dizzy with desire. He was still fully clothed though, she supposed, and focused. Focused on this, on her, on nothing but turning that giddy delight into toe-curling pleasure. 

“Stand still,” he ordered, and she snickered, slightly drunk with fondness. He sounded so serious. She liked this bold new side of him, Jemma decided – and she liked it even more when he moved one of his hands, creeping it slowly down her side so that it tickled, just a little. 

“Ooh,” she teased, raising an eyebrow. There was only one place he could be going with this, and still not even a blush. 

“Ah, no sound!” he scolded. “You promised.” 

The hand that was still on her neck, he moved, to press a finger against her lips. He was not binding her to him anymore but she stayed. She dug her toes into the carpet and bit her lip, trying to obey as his other hand continued its journey. 

Fitz struggled not to smile. Jemma’s body trembled a little, in lieu of her preferred method of noisemaking, as he teased the inside of her thighs. Her lips were reddened from kissing and her eyes big and round and doe-like, as if it was an evolutionary mechanism to make him want her more. As if she needed that. Swarmed by his base desires, he wanted only one thing more than to step in closer, rub himself against her, take her in his arms – but that one thing was to try this, and so he did. He let his fingers reach inside of her and tried not to feel too proud of himself when her body arched up a little to meet him. 

It was pleasurable, of course. Oh, that it was, but Jemma knew it was not all he had planned. She gave the best approximation of a smug expression that she could manage with his fingers inside her and his very obvious arousal mere inches from her, and to her delight, he gave her one right back. If this were to be a competition, he was going to bring his best, after all.

Jemma prepared herself, just in time, for the touch of his lips to her neck. Fitz moved downward, and she dug her teeth a little more firmly into her own lips, determined not to breach the silence, even as he teased her breasts and nipples, and the sensitive flesh of her belly, and gradually sunk down onto his knees to move lower. This was a competition, and she too was going to bring her best. She let him move her knees apart so that he could reach her even though, at his touch, they shuddered and she thought she could barely stand. She let him kiss and suck gently at her skin and as pleasure filled her, it began to feel like she was only still upright by the sheer force of Fitz’s will. She swallowed a gasp, and doubled down on her concentration. It was harder than she’d anticipated, not to gasp, not to beg, not to sing her lover’s praises as he brought her closer and closer to the edge. She even tried to cheat a little and go to her happy place – a beach, a forest, anywhere – but how could she when her happy place was right here?

(A little cheesy, maybe, but she was designed to enjoy the man she loved slowly uncoiling her from the inside out, was she not?) 

 _He’s smiling, the bastard,_ Jemma thought to herself, as her fingers sought out the curls at the back of his head. He hadn’t instructed her not to touch him, after all, and she was going to get the best out of his skilled and eager tongue that she could. She eased him closer, angled him better – 

And little did she know, she was playing right into his hands.

She managed to make it until he had her teetering right on the cusp of a delicious orgasm before she finally let it slip. 

_“Oh, Fitz.”_

He laughed, victorious, and pulled away. 

“Oh! No!” Jemma gasped, crashing back from the edge instead of over it as Fitz stood up, as smug as ever. She pouted, feeling more pathetically desperate than – in that moment – she could remember, and begged: “Fitz, please- I was so close, come on!”

“You didn’t think I’d really do it, did you?” he teased, raising en eyebrow in a mockery of her earlier play. All of Jemma’s senses were frayed by the let-down and she could do nothing but squeak in disappointment as he went about his business - fully clothed, and her completely nude, and wet, and practically aching with desire. She hadn’t been thinking much of anything when she’d lost the game, but now she wondered how quickly she could tear all his clothes off and declare a rematch. 

Then Fitz turned back to her. He was blushing a little this time, but his eyes still locked onto her with burning passion. He pulled his belt from its loops, and tossed it aside. Jemma lowered her head; humbled, but still in the right space to continue the game without any questions they hadn’t faced yet in this arena. She stared at – well, his erection, because it was at a very stare-able distance from this angle – and wondered if she was allowed to speak, since she’d broken the rule once anyway. As it turned out though, she didn’t have to, as Fitz had already this part mapped out. 

“My turn,” he said.

Jemma blinked at him. 

“It’s my turn,” he repeated. “You blew it so… now you blow it.” 

“Well.” It felt strange, somehow, to use her voice. “That’s fair enough, I suppose.” 

Jemma smiled around the words. Fitz had quickly gotten over his fear of speaking up in the bedroom when he didn’t like something, but it had taken considerably more coaxing to get him to ask for what he wanted. To think he would ever have stood before her, fully clothed and aroused and with her stark naked before him, and ask her to suck him off… she couldn’t help but oblige. 

She knelt down. Slowly. Deliberately. She looked up, meeting his eyes, inviting him onward. She was not ashamed, her eyes promised, but trusting and ready to serve – as he so often was, to her, but recontextualised. 

Under Jemma’s inviting gaze, Fitz stepped over his barrier of hesitation and dropped his pants, and pulled his erection free of his underwear, stepping out of it all as he walked toward her. It felt good – better than he’d like to admit – to touch himself for this brief period. He was burning with desire now, the open air only a momentary relief. He longed for Jemma’s lips and tongue, and when she sat up a little straighter to accept him, he almost whimpered with desire. 

 _No. Strong. She is yours,_ he reminded himself, and it wasn’t hard to feel the head-rush of power that she had handed over to him as she crooned softly and lapped him up. She had insisted, earlier, that he could do whatever he wanted with her. That anything he thought of, she would trust him to carry out. It had seemed a little insulting at first – a little like _as kinky as you can go, I can go kinkier_ – but it was all so trivial now. He’d never wanted anything fancy; all he’d ever needed was good old-fashioned sex. And a good blowjob, well, he wasn’t going to say no to that, no matter how quaint Jemma might have thought it was. 

Fitz slid his fingers into her hair, and let his eyes fall closed as he relished the pleasure. He tried not to pull; it was enough to let her work, and to feel every little hum of pleasure she gave, reverberating through him. Should he apply the same rules of the game to himself? Should he, too, try to swallow down the moan in his throat? Then again, had Jemma not insisted that he do what pleased him? 

“Jemma,” he whispered, and moaned. It was a struggle to open his eyes amidst the all-encompassing sensation, but he was glad he did so. Jemma was looking up at him, a little dazed with desire but paying attention to him – in more ways than one. Seeing that he was watching now, she moved a little slower; showing off, and letting him match her movements with his pleasure. There: her lips, her hand, her throat. There: her tongue, brushing lovingly over his tip. He took a deep breath, and it shuddered through him and Jemma smiled. He was close and she knew it, and worked it, and when his hand tightened in her hair, desperate for something to hold onto, she was ready.

He came in a burst of light: a victory that satiated all his appetites, and sent him to a plane of the highest physical gratification. It was momentarily overwhelming, draining, and then he wanted to kiss Jemma again: to share with her this serene and blissful plane of existence. But when he reached for her, he found only fabric and his own skin. He looked around, puzzled, and found himself lying on their bed. Jemma was kneeling beside him, stroking his chest gently, and smiling to herself - quite satisfied and, if Fitz did say so himself, a little smug. 

Fitz sighed, and stroked her hair. 

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Jemma asked, though her mischievous eyes screamed that she knew the answer was yes. 

“Ah, you’re too good to me, baby girl,” Fitz praised, in surrender. 

“I do my best,” Jemma agreed. Her face was flawless, but she rocked where she was sitting, and dug a heel in between her legs. Fitz’s eyes flickered down to it, and back to her face. He wondered briefly if he was supposed to notice that, but when Jemma bit her lip and begged him with those wide round eyes, he didn’t care. If tonight was all about giving him what he wanted, and what he wanted was to pleasure her, he had a feeling he wouldn’t meet too many objections. 

“Lie down,” he ordered. “Stretch out.”

“You don’t – you don’t have to,” Jemma objected half-heartedly, wanting nothing more than for him to thrust her into blissful oblivion.

She was transparent, and Fitz met her eyes with the same burning confidence as before. He nodded to the space beside them, insisting that she take up his offer, and finally, Jemma did. Squirming with excitement, she reached her hands above her head, fingers digging into a pillow. There was no way she was coming quietly, but maybe that would be a fair compromise. She stretched her legs wide, eager, and bit her lip as she watched Fitz admire her. He ran a finger down the inside of her thigh, which still shone with slick desire, and he smiled at her, a little apologetically.

“Well now,” he mused. “That won’t do, will it? A gentleman could hardly leave a fine girl like you unsatisfied. Sure, I might need a little time to get it up, but in the meantime, I’m sure we can improvise.”

“Mm, cocky.”

“You love it.”

“I do.” 

Through hooded eyes, Jemma watched as Fitz’s fingers picked up where they had left off earlier. His lips moved to meet hers and she stifled a moan, and felt Fitz smile against her skin.

“It’s okay,” he invited, and kissed lower: her jaw, her neck, her collarbone. There, he sucked on her smooth skin, and teased it a little with his teeth. “This time I think I’d rather like to hear you.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: in which Dom!Fitz needs to build his confidence and assertiveness.  
> Fitz takes Jemma away for a sensuous weekend as part of his journey of growth as a Dom.

Fitz untied the knot and let the blindfold slip away, and Jemma blinked as she drank in her surroundings. Her breath caught a little. 

“Do you like it?” Fitz’s voice was soft and smooth, like he knew she would. 

“How did you afford this place?” Jemma breathed. 

“I have a budget for these things.”

“Of course you do.” 

“Besides, it’s only for the weekend.” 

“Of course it is. Far too dark and modern for my liking. Usually, I mean.” Jemma smirked, and glanced coquettishly over her shoulder at Fitz. “For our purposes this weekend I suspect it will do quite nicely.”

‘It’ was a large, open plan apartment-style hotel room. It had stark lines, lush carpets over hard floors, stone benchtops, an absurdly large flatscreen tv, a feature wall, and a luxuriously large double bed with bold grey satin sheets. It was not Fitz’s modest practicality, or Jemma’s slightly rustic style at all – which was perfect, for a weekend away from their usual selves. 

Jemma was busy admiring the potential of it all, when she felt Fitz’s lips brush her ear. She shivered, and he whispered; 

“You should see the bathroom.” 

Fitz led the way, but Jemma stepped in first. It was a lighter colour scheme than the rest of the apartment. There was a little plant on the bench by the sink. And there was the biggest bath that Jemma had ever seen, complete with jets, and what Jemma suspected were at least three different kinds of soap and lotion. Her eyes are drawn to a fancy, curved glass bottle full of purple bath salts. 

“That was my addition,” Fitz explained. “Lavender. I thought it might help you… soften up.” 

He said this while doing that thing. That very Fitz thing where he leant on the doorway and tugged at something. But he wasn’t blushing and bumbling this time: he was looking straight at her _._ Jemma felt a little blush of her own. Something made her heart flutter, to be doted on by this man even in the most modest of ways. To be whisked away by his whim to a luxurious apartment, showered with rich sensations, and every word dripping with desire… It made her a little weak at the knees.

“Thank you,” Jemma said softly, and ducked her head in the slightest simulation of a courtesy. Fitz smiled. 

“Only the best for my girl,” he promised. Jemma bit her lip, and he quirked a knowing eyebrow at her. Satisfied that his work here was done, he slipped out of the room with nothing more than a cryptic instruction that she 

“Enjoy.” 

- 

Jemma was never one to waste an opportunity, so she made sure to enjoy herself very much. If the door was open and Fitz _enjoyed_ himself too, well then, she was not about to argue, but she did not worry herself on the thought or make herself louder than necessary for his sake. Her only instruction had been to relax, and so, she did. She took her time soaking in the scent of the lavender, and let her thoughts drift. Fitz could call her if he wanted her. 

She wondered if he would. After all, while this was prime time to relieve her own stresses from work and well, life, she had a feeling that Fitz was testing himself this weekend. Building up to something. He’d been happy to try this kind of thing at her request, but now it seemed more natural to him somehow. There was something in the pride he had in her pleasure; something more than it had been before. Something that told her he’d researched this, and learnt more than he could have with her – an admittedly biased party in the proceedings – handing information to him to get what she wanted. Perhaps he’d done some soul searching and come back with the realisation that dominance was an act of protection and trust and that he might just be able to pull it off after all. Jemma felt a swell of desire at the thought. If she could have Fitz, her Fitz – and if he, the same man, even with a bit of an alter ego, could learn to bring her to the edge with nothing but his voice – well, she was going to have a very satisfied life indeed. 

That thought brought Jemma’s mind back to the sensations of the flesh. Her insides coiled with desire but her outsides were cold. And she was hungry – and, bless Fitz, she could smell food. Hot food. A roast? Her mouth watered. She climbed out of the bath eagerly and dried off, glad to find that the water had not pruned her too much. When she walked out into the main room, she found it was toasty warm, and smiled. Postulating, making a show of herself, she dropped the towel. 

Fitz looked up her from the bed. He had been reading, with his suit still on – he’d only taken off his shoes and loosened his tie. His pupils dilated, but other than that he almost managed to feign indifference. It nagged at her competitive side; made her want to try harder to please him, because that was the challenge. How did he manage to make her feel it was a challenge after spending half his life looking at her like she was a gift from above?

He was learning. 

“Dinner’s here,” he said, and nodded at the room service tray by the door.

Jemma jutted her chin. She was proud of him, but also determined to be proud of herself. Just because she was supposed to submit, it didn’t mean she couldn’t be the best damn service girl that he had ever seen. Certainly he deserved it, and he loved it. Loved her dignity – and found her stubbornness infuriatingly attractive. So she moved with showmanship and supple grace, like a dancer, as she fetched the tray and brought it to him. She knelt on the bed, waiting patiently as Fitz reached for his own knife and fork and then paused.

“Why don’t you do it?” he suggested. 

“Feed you?” 

“Feed me. And you. We can share a plate, don’t you think? I mean. We can share a plate.”

He nodded, stabilising himself, and Jemma smiled. She began to cut up potato and carrot and chicken, and it felt a little ridiculous to be eating a roast like this - alternating mouthfuls and occasionally sensuously licking gravy off a fork - but it felt a little more intimate too. It came easier to both of them than Jemma expected. Fitz too, apparently, though there were still a few kinks to work out.

“Should I be asking you questions?” Fitz asked. “I feel like I should be asking questions.”

“You can do what you like,” Jemma reminded him.

“Okay. Do you… do you really enjoy this?”

“Do you?” Jemma returned.

“What do you mean?”

“Most of the time,” Jemma explained. “You know, in – in ‘real life’, if you want. You do service acts for me all the time. And I’m the protector. Do you enjoy that?” 

“You know I do.”

“Then why is it so strange for you to believe that I might enjoy feeding you pumpkin from a shared fork once in a while?”

“It’s – it’s not, I guess,” Fitz said. “It’s just – some of the way some of these guys talk, on the blogs and things, it’s so degrading. I don’t want to treat you like that.” 

Jemma snorted. 

“Fitz. I promise, if you ever make me feel degraded, you’ll know about it. This is a power exchange. It’s all just for fun, and relaxation. And service. I like serving you, I like making you feel good. Sometimes I just need to take a step to the side from my ordinary life to do that, so that I can let things go. I’m a high-ranking officer in a stressful and dangerous job. Usually, my life depends on my being in control. I cannot tell you how amazing it is to have someone else take over that control for a little while. To bring my world down to simple things. And to let me repay you for all the service that you do, for me, every day.”

“By giving me orgasms?” Fitz joked.

“You want an orgasm?” Jemma joked right back. “I can give you one right now.”

Grinning, she set aside the tray, but Fitz shook his head. 

“I want pancakes,” he said. 

“Yes sir.” 

She picked herself up off the bed and Fitz laughed.

“Are all subs as cocky as you are?”

“I guess I just know what my Master likes,” she returned.

“You got that right.” 

Fitz sighed, and positioned himself better to enjoy the view as Jemma crossed to the kitchen. He’d prepared for breakfast in bed, and pancakes was their usual holiday fare, so the materials were all there and, well-versed in the art of pancake making, Jemma moved about with quiet confidence. And a little exhibitionism, since she knew he was watching her naked curves as she cooked.

She stood on her toes, reaching for a glass in a cabinet above her head that she did not need, and Fitz took a deep breath. He’d been half-hard for a while now, since hearing her soft private moans of pleasure from the bathroom, but he had no power against such an obvious come-on – and all that talk of service and orgasms was not helping. Except that it was. Because this is what this weekend was for, and it was that talk - and all the others that had come before it - that gave him the courage to stand up and strip off his pants and follow Jemma into the kitchen.

He kissed her ear.

“Hey there,” she greeted, and nuzzled into him. “Like what you see?”

“Mm.” 

He stepped in closer, and let his erection press against her buttocks. Proof of just how much he’d liked it. She smiled. 

“After the pancakes,” she promised.

“No,” Fitz insisted. Jemma turned around, and Fitz pinned her against the bench, bracing his arms on either side of her. Her heart fluttered. His pupils were blown wide with desire and below that, his skewed collar and naked cock and even more naked determination to have her ramped up her own desire ten-fold.

“No?” she teased.

“No,” Fitz repeated boldly. “I changed my mind.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FitzSimmons try out some sexy petnames for their "other selves".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: FitzSimmons + soft BDSM + "petnames"
> 
> I'm open to more chapters along this theme. You're welcome to prompt me here or on tumblr. I reserve the right to turn down prompts but [here](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/ApplePie_BananaMilkshakes/profile#faq) are some guidelines for my general approach to smut if you're interested.

“So, I was thinking about petnames.” 

Jemma frowned. It was late, and they were reading side-by-side in bed together; it was about the only thing they had time to do together these days. She was busy trying to decipher a memo on the next round of Inhuman anti-discrimination measures – though they seemed like the opposite to her – and Fitz’s suggestion had come out of the blue.

“We can’t get a pet, Fitz,” she pointed out. “Animals need space, and sunlight. It’d be cruel to keep one down here. And up there? Anything with claws would scratch the hardwood.”

Fitz shook his head. 

“No, that’s not what I meant. I meant… us. Between us.”

“I think we’re fine for petnames, Fitz. Especially around work. I don’t need the Prep Team to start calling me ‘pumpkin’ every other minute.” 

“No, I meant…” Fitz blushed a little. “I meant, the other us. You know, there are names that people use when they’re… in that space. That are different from outside it. I think the hotel room worked really well because it was so not-us and so I thought, maybe we could bring the hotel room here. Different names for different lives, you know?” 

Jemma snorted. “Well, I’m not calling you ‘Daddy.’” 

“Lord no. Please don’t.” Fitz grimaced. 

“What about –“ Jemma opened a new tab on her reader, and googled suggestions quickly. “Oh, no I can’t say that one with a straight face. What about ‘Mr. Fitz’? Ooh, or ‘Doctor’?” 

“I’d rather not get a boner every time I watch my favourite television program, thank you very much.” 

“Oh, please, I know you’ve got the hots for Amy.”

“She’s _Scottish_ and has legs _for days,”_ Fitz retorted helplessly. “How do _you_ not have the hots for her?” 

Jemma rolled her eyes, and brought them back on task. “Alright, genius, what have you got for me then?” 

“Well… there’s a lot of rather degrading ones out there, to be honest, but I thought… baby? Or baby girl? Or is that – I don’t know, is that too much in ‘Daddy’ territory?”  
  
Jemma smiled. “I’m okay with it, it’s more in the ‘babe’ territory for me. But no baby talk, agreed?”  
  
“Agreed. Definitely. 100%.” 

“Any others though?”

“Maybe a few worth a shot. They’re a little cutesy but… sugar? princess? poppet?” 

Jemma hummed. Fitz studied her expression. “What?”

“I like that last one,” she said, and grinned. “It makes me feel… cute. You know, like in the ‘I’d boop your nose like a kitten’ kind of way. I feel like I could dress up in frilly pink lace to that name.” 

“Would you like some frilly pink lace?” Fitz offered. 

“I have a budget for these things,” Jemma replied, and raised a cryptic eyebrow at Fitz, pressing her lips together in mocking, and alluring, secrecy. 

“What about me, then?” Fitz pressed. “You can’t just keep calling me ‘Fitz.’ It’ll throw me off.” 

“Well, how about ‘sir’? It’s basic, it’s strong, it gets the job done.”

“Eh. You can’t go round calling me your Sir though can you?” 

Jemma snorted. “And who exactly do you expect me to be ‘going round’ to?”

“You know what I mean.” Fitz waved her off, just as she had an idea. She sat up, on her knees, and batted his chest. 

“Ooh! What about _Master?_ Remember, in the hotel – I think you _liked_ it.” 

“Mm, it could grow on me,” Fitz confessed. Jemma slid her hand down his chest to the lump below the blankets, and smiled a sordid smile. 

“Feels like it already has,” she remarked, and slipped her hand below the waistband of his pyjamas. Fitz encouraged her to slide one of her legs over his, until she was straddling him, with her nightgown pulled up above her knees, his fists wrapped in the material – in part to keep it out of the way, but mostly for an excuse to feel the smooth porcelain skin of her thighs, and the way it shivered under his touch.

“Now, now, poppet,” Fitz purred. “We’ve got a big day tomorrow.” 

“All the more reason for a little stress relief, don’t you think?” Jemma replied. “Sir?” 

She smirked a little, and Fitz pulled her in for a kiss. 

“You make a good argument,” he praised. 

“Thank you, sir,” Jemma said, ducking her head modestly. “It’s my pleasure.” 

“Come on then, poppet. Let’s tire you out.” 

Fitz pushed the blankets a little further out of the way, and pulled his cock free of his pants. Jemma’s hungry eyes were drawn to it, and to the bold way Fitz handled it, right in front of her like that. So at ease – so eager, even, and increasingly unabashed about it the more they practiced being together in this way. He’d think she was teasing if she pointed that out, but god, it made her wet. Even more so as, with the charm and grace of a prince helping his princess down from her carriage, Fitz brushed his fingers over her wrist and then took her hand, and invited her to slide down onto him.

Jemma opened her legs wide, gasping as her muscles adjusted to take his cock inside her. Fitz grinned hungrily as he watched her body open, like a flower. Jemma’s hand clutched at his; for a moment, she was not his poised princess, but simply a young woman overcome by base desires. She threw her head back, bared her neck, and moaned to the roof:

“Oh, F-“ and caught herself, at the last second. “ _Master.”_

The word was laboured, and Jemma’s voice made rough by the heady sensation of him inside her and his hands, now palming her breasts through her nightgown. Fitz bit his own lip to steady his thoughts, surprised at how much the name affected him. Animal desire flared, rough and hot, and he tore her nightgown over her head, all of a sudden needing to see her in the flesh. It was a cold night, so her skin flushed with goosebumps. He’d soon take care of that, Fitz silently promised. That, and those beautiful breasts, pert from arousal as well as the chill, standing to attention for him and carried proudly by Jemma’s perfect posture. He couldn’t help but stop to admire them. 

Then Jemma whined at his lack of movement, and to even Fitz’s own surprise, rather than flustering and distracting him, this reminded him of his own responsibility here. Seamlessly, from the back of his mind, he pulled the command: 

“Move.” 

Jemma whimpered. It seemed impossible – but in the same way that getting out of bed on a cold morning seemed impossible. It had been so long, and they’d been so busy lately, they’d hardly had a chance to touch each other in passing, let alone dedicate an entire night to it. She was enjoying the feeling of being full. 

But, just like getting out of bed on a cold morning, movement had its benefits. Her bodies sensations changed, refreshed. Fitz’s hand was still gentle on hers, guiding her in this dance. Her legs were getting a workout, but it was as Fitz had promised: he was trying to tire her out. Trying to force her mind to let go of the stresses of the lab, of the problems she’d yet to solve, and to focus only on her burning muscles and burning need and burning breath, gasping and gasping and gasping for him. It was working, too: Jemma could barely remember the names of the people she had to order around, and when her thoughts tried to snatch them from behind her curtain of desire, Fitz lured her off-course again with a whisper. 

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he encouraged, feeling Jemma slowly giving herself, in mind as well as body, over to him. Keeping one hand entwined in hers, Fitz ran his fingers over her, teasing her pert nipples and boosting her thrusts with a tickle of her clit. She had a rhythm going now, pumping up and down with abandon, so enthusiastic that she started to lose her balance. 

“S- Sorry,” she whispered, frustrated and desperate to finish what she’d started. Fitz rubbed at her more quickly, chasing her self-doubt away with a flurry of sensation. His fingers came away wet, and he smiled, as she pulled herself back on track. Fitz cupped her cheek, and Jemma nuzzled into his hand. He was so understanding when she stumbled. So willing to give her what she needed. And bless him, even the periodic table seemed irrelevant to her reality now.

“I’m- I’m almost ready,” Fitz told her eventually, his breath tight with coiled desire. “Are you?” 

She nodded. “Yes. _Yes.”_

“Then let go, poppet,” he invited. “Let it go.” 

He came first, gasping with the relief of it and squeezing her hand desperately as even the steady surface of the bed seemed to come unbalanced. Keening, she soon tumbled after him. She fell forward and they collapsed into a tangle of limbs, and then - always eager to touch her - Fitz’s fingers knotted through her hair. He painted her with sloppy kisses as they came down from their highs. Eventually, Jemma cuddled into his side, and shivered. 

“It’s bloody cold,” she whispered, her teeth chattering. When and where had he thrown her clothes? Fitz kissed her fingers and he finally let go her hand, to pull the blanket up to her shoulders and slip away. Soon, he returned with an old shirt of his and a towel that he used, taking his sweet time, to mop Jemma up. She grew warm again at his attention, and in his embrace when at last he returned to her side, but she was content not to press for more. In his arms, she slipped into a peaceful and elated slumber, where nothing in the world outside this bed could touch her until morning. Fitz kissed the top of her head and eventually, did the same.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Domme!Jemma needs to work on her patience  
> ft. sneaking off from a fancy party!  
> & some (platonic) Daisy  
> (and also for some reason FitzSimmons talk slightly old-timey when they're being sexy just role w it ba dum tsh)
> 
> You're welcome to prompt me here or on tumblr (smut or otherwise). I reserve the right to turn down prompts but [here](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/ApplePie_BananaMilkshakes/profile#faq) are some guidelines for my general approach to smut if you're interested.

Daisy frowned, and poured an extra cup of punch as Jemma came half-running over to the table, cheeks flushed and almost stumbling in her strappy stilettos. She eagerly took the punch from Daisy and gulped a mouthful down, then caught sight of her friend’s expression, stifling laughter.

“What?” Jemma raised an eyebrow. 

“Where’s the fire?” Daisy teased. 

“In my pants,” Jemma muttered, and took another mouthful of punch as Daisy snorted. 

“What?” Daisy spluttered. Stretching the tendons of her neck in agony, Jemma bugged her eyes out, the strength of her feelings struggling to fit into words. 

“I… am… hornier than I expected,” Jemma explained tightly, in a whisper that made Daisy bite her lip so she wouldn’t just cackle out loud. “Fitz and I are- uh, trying something and it’s, um. Working. For me. A little too well.” 

“Then go bone it out!” Daisy insisted, remembering at the last second to keep her voice to a stage whisper. “The bathrooms are _really_ nice. Stone benchtops? At hip level? Mmm, yeah.” 

“Shut _up,”_ Jemma squeaked, and rubbed her neck, dragging her fingers over her skin roughly. “Ugh, this is all my fault! I mean, I _was_ going to wear that floral sundress – you know, the –“

“Super bangable one that hangs off your shoulders?” 

“The _easily removable one,”_ Jemma clarified. “But yes. And then _something_ drove me to choose _this thing_ instead. I mean, look at me! I’m trussed up like a Christmas ham! This is not bathroom-quickie material!” 

She gestured to her jewel-red dress and Daisy had to agree: the back was laced, the hair was pinned to within an inch of its life, the legs were stockinged, and even the shoes were made entirely of straps. Unless Jemma wanted her afternoon delight to turn into a three-course meal, there would be no bathroom sex-having today. Daisy pouted in sympathy.

“Table shenanigans?” she suggested hopefully. “Wait – ew – why I am I helping you? I have to eat at that table.” 

“Don’t say eat,” Jemma demanded.

“Why?” Daisy teased. “Damn, you’ve got it _bad._ Oop, here comes Fitz!” 

“No!” Jemma’s head whipped around, looking for him, but she quickly gave up and darted away. “I’m going to the bathroom!”

“But I thought -“

Daisy cut herself off, realising that she was not being heard as Jemma disappeared into the crowd. Morbidly, insatiably curious, she turned her attention to Fitz, who seemed much calmer than his counterpart, if a little perplexed. 

“Did Jemma come by here earlier?” he asked. 

“Briefly,” Daisy offered with a shrug. “She’s just ducked off to fix her makeup.” 

A smile tugged at Fitz’s lips and he quickly swallowed it down. Daisy rolled in the scent of upcoming gossip: though she knew she’d be a little bit disgusted, she couldn’t resist. 

“What are you two up to?” 

“Shenanigans,” Fitz promised modestly. Picking up a glass of punch – as if anyone else in the room was not too preoccupied with their own gossip to hear them – he explained: “You know Jemma and I have been messing around with some, uh, bedroom dynamics? Tonight I think it’s backfiring on her. We haven’t… let off steam in a while and she really likes it when I… I mean she _really_ likes it.” 

“Okay.” Daisy nodded, and waved a hand. “Do these – uh, _dynamics,_ allow you to go find her in the bathroom and ‘let off steam’?” 

Fitz shook his head. “No. I’m not supposed to do anything without her initiating. Now, if she texts me, then I can –“ 

He pulled out his phone, a little more hopeful than he’d willingly admit for the screen to light up with a message, but it did not. Daisy shook her head as he reluctantly put it away again. 

“Oi vey. Well, good luck, I’m off – at least one of us should be schmoozing this joint. Hurry up and get your mistress’s rocks off before she explodes and blows this for us, alright?” 

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly and left Fitz with two half-drunk glasses of punch. It was at this moment, of course, that his phone chose to buzz, and Fitz almost spilled both glasses in his rush to read it.

 

\-- 

“Jemma?”

She froze at the sound of his voice, and had to laugh at herself a little. Like an erotic novel, he pushed the door open to find her, on the edge of the bed, stuck in her far-too-strappy dress that she’d tried, foolishly, to take off on her own. For a moment, seized by his boldness, she was tempted to transform into his pampering poppet and beg for his attention, but then he spoke again. He leaned into the concern, the sweetness, with no charm or heroics to it. 

“Are you alright? Can I help?” 

His eyes were wide, and dare she say his mouth watering, at the sight of the marks she’d left all over her skin. Redness, and pressure, so much rougher with herself than he would be. Jemma imagined the cool, soothing touch of his tongue, and longed to have it, and then realised – she could. 

“Yes, help,” she requested, waving him over. “Loose the straps, and kiss where I’m wounded.” 

 _Wounded_ was laying it on a little thick, but then, her other self was always so much more dramatic. It played to Fitz’s submissive side like a piano accompanist usually, but now, he hesitated. 

“Are you sure?” he checked. “This room…”

“Is not being used; I checked, it’s a guest room and they’re flying in tomorrow.”

“This is a _guest_ room?” Fitz gasped. 

“Would you prefer I said it was for the lady of the house?” 

Jemma met his gaze with smouldering eyes, and that seemed to knock him back on track. She nodded – as if unfazed by his decision, as if she’d always seen it coming – and snapped her fingers. 

“Now, undress me,” she ordered, with a clip to her tone. 

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Fitz bowed, and checked the door was closed, and then returned to her side. He found where the laces tied behind her, and studied them… almost lost himself for a moment in their enchanting secrets, until Jemma turned her head a little as if to watch him over her shoulder, and her hair tumbled down, and she looked as if she were about to step straight out of a Bond movie, and Fitz felt a rush of blood to his nether regions. He stepped forward. 

“Sorry, Ma’am,” he said, and bumbled with the laces. Jemma took a deep breath and, just as his lips finally touched her skin, insisted – 

“No, please, take your time.” 

Jemma’s lips parted, moaning silently as Fitz’s tongue, soft and slow and strong, massaged every tiny red pressure mark he could find. She was almost glad to have such heavy satin hanging around her, to stop her from finger-fucking herself like a college girl when she had Fitz’s breath on her neck, and the hands he gently slid around her waist, and lower as he made his way down her back. 

She arched after him, feeling as though his touch undid every knot in her shoulders. Her fingers clutched at her dress and she struggled to let the material go, as Fitz reached the hem of the close of the V, in the small of her back, and his kiss there – long and lingering – made her legs long to open. 

“Step back,” she ordered instead, and for her sacrifice she was rewarded with Fitz’s tight breath as the satin fell away and she stepped out of it, still encased in lacy lingerie – and shamelessly wet about it too, he realised as she turned toward him. He licked his lips. He couldn’t help it. The sight of her made him dry, like a cruel irony, like the universe would do this only to present him one way to sate his thirst. 

But Jemma sat down again, on the edge of the bed. She crossed her knees, closed to him, and swung her leg amiably. She raked a hand through her hair, ensuring that, aroused as she was, it still tumbled down her back and over her shoulder as close to cinematographic as she could get it. 

“Go to the cupboard,” she ordered. 

Fitz felt a tingle run through his body; a thrill. He did not feel quite himself, and yet, he was totally present as he walked to the cupboard and opened the doors. These were not their clothes, but they were things that – by his reckoning – he and Jemma could not afford. Not more than once in a blue moon, anyway. And here was a whole wardrobe full of clothes fit for a First Lady, for a Queen… and stolen? On, as Daisy said, his ‘mistress’s’ orders? Well now.

“Choose three.” 

Fitz gaped. 

“To wear?” 

“For me,” Jemma clarified. “I trust your judgement.” 

She still hadn’t turned from her dramatic pose on the end of the bed. If she were being honest, she was afraid the movement might cause a little more friction than she could stand right at this moment. 

“I… don’t understand,” Fitz confessed, though he went about her request. He chose a periwinkle blue, and moved to lay it out on a spare unclaimed area of bed. “I thought we were going to…” 

“To get back to the party!” Jemma insisted, her tone almost cracking on that one. “We really should relieve Daisy, and besides, I can be patient.” 

There was a pale nude pencil-dress in his arms and Fitz tossed it aside, throwing herself at Jemma’s feet with a level of drama only fit for these charades. 

“Patient?” Fitz repeated. “What need have you to be patient? You are Doctor Jemma Simmons, you take what you want.” 

“Oh, hush,” Jemma scolded. “I came up here for a change of clothes. We mustn’t waste time or someone will notice we’re gone. If I change, we can slip away later and leverage some marble benches to our own ends. I promise.” 

“But Ma’am –“ 

“Are you challenging me?” 

Fitz lowered his head with humility, falling silent. After a moment, Jemma put her hand on his curls.

“Speak,” she invited, and let Fitz lift his head. 

“I only meant to say,” Fitz pointed out, “that helping you dress is a privilege, Ma’am, but helping you undress – it drives a man to distraction, if I might say. It’s not your own patience, but mine, that I’m concerned about when it comes to milling about with our peers. I only seek to preserve my own dignity, that’s all.”

His eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief and Jemma very nearly smirked. Here he was, offering her an out. While she stood in her underwear with her hand still in his hair, him at her mercy, no less. 

“Well. We did agree not to practice humiliation, did we not?” she recalled. “So I suppose I am duty-bound to help relieve your distress.” 

“I suppose, Ma’am,” Fitz agreed, fighting back a smirk much as Jemma was. Then all of a sudden she let go his hair and stood up, pacing the rich carpet as she pondered his fate. She would love to watch him pleasure himself – that would buy her a few hours, she was sure – but it seemed such a shame to waste all that trouble it took getting out of that dress. 

“Up on the bed with you, then,” she ordered. 

“Really?” Fitz’s eyes bugged a little, straining character, but Jemma doubled down and flicked her hand dismissively, as if they truly did own the place. 

“If we have a bed we might as well use it. Marble is hard on the ass-cheeks, you know.” 

Maybe it was the way Jemma was standing, with her legs braced and one hand on her hip, or maybe it was hearing her prim accent boldly pronounced _ass_ , or maybe it was all manner of things but Fitz sprung onto the bed and lay down, tumbling out of his clothing in an undignified manner that made Jemma honestly beam, before she pulled her persona back in.

She slid her underwear off slowly. It was tight, and firm, and she relished the flow of air returning again and the way that Fitz’s eyes hungrily took her in. She touched herself a little, though it didn’t take much to prepare from this point – least not with the sight of Fitz’s erect cock waiting for her. 

“Don’t take too long, mind,” she warned as she climbed up onto the bed. “We have work to get back to.” 

Fitz nodded, though in truth the passage of time seemed a distant memory, far away from this bubble of time and space where Jemma was lowering herself onto him and biting her lip as she set a rhythm and he matched it. Trapped in a new, quality, lace brazier her breasts didn’t bounce as much as they could have, but Fitz rather enjoyed the stateliness of it all. The dignity – and the irony, of dignity somehow still existing in wild thrusting and gasping for breath, and giggling on occasion as each reminded the other not to be heard. 

When Fitz came at last, he caught Jemma smiling to herself as if she’d stolen a cheeky victory. She cleaned him up with quiet satisfaction. 

“Good man,” she praised. “You didn’t even get anything on the sheets.” 

“What about you?” Fitz asked. 

“The blue one.” Jemma nodded to the dress he had laid out. “Oh, I fully expect you to return the favour.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: Fitz uses "baby girl" on Jemma, and, Dom!Fitz helps Jemma with patience.
> 
> You're welcome to prompt me (smutty or otherwise) here or on tumblr. I reserve the right to turn down prompts but [here](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/ApplePie_BananaMilkshakes/profile#faq) are some guidelines for my general approach to smut if you're interested.

She was trying to be good, she really was. 

It was that maddening smirk is what did it. He was getting used to this – and getting better at pushing her buttons – and dear _Lord_ she loved him for it but at the same time, she would have given anything to rip away the cords that bound her wrists right now and have at him.

Her toes scrabbled for purchase on the carpet, only frustrating her further as, held off the ground by a spreader bar passed through the legs of her chair, they only got enough friction to tickle at her core. She was starting to seriously consider whether it was possible to fuck a chair, and just how she might go about doing that. She was sure her clitoris was about ready to crawl off her body and physically attack Fitz to get what it wanted, so wet and hungry was it, and yet he was smug. 

Then again, Jemma supposed, he did have her arms and legs bound to a chair, so he had her beat there. 

“Now, now, baby girl,” he murmured. “Sit still. We haven’t finished our lesson yet.” 

 _Fuck me,_ Jemma thought, grounding her teeth together. The lesson had been _patience,_ and she had been learning well up until this point. 

First he’d fingered her until she was right on the edge, and left her hanging. He’d taken her underwear off – torturously slowly – and it was now hanging over the back of the chair on which her bare buttocks now rested. He’d kissed and sucked at her neck until she’d felt like screaming and then he’d made her promise not to make a sound, and he’d tied her wrists behind the back of the chair and spread her legs apart from below it. Over and over, his firm, hot touch had tempted her and she had been patient, she had been _so_ patient… she had to bite her lip to stop herself from drooling in anticipation of her reward.

But this was not it.

He turned away for a moment and

 _Oh, Fitz, please,_ she nearly begged. She was impatient enough at the best of times, least of all when her whole body was tingling, practically _throbbing,_ at the thought of having him inside her. He couldn’t leave now, or she might just lose her mind. 

She whimpered. 

Fitz, standing at the dresser drawer, turned back for a moment. Raised an eyebrow at her sound. 

Should she open her mouth? Should she beg? She was not below that, and goodness knows her dignity had been stripped long ago. 

Then again, if he punished her for speaking without permission, and really did walk away, she was not sure she could bear it. So she stayed silent. 

“Good girl,” Fitz praised, and Jemma felt a keen sense of relief as he walked back a few steps toward her.  
  
Had this been her test, she wondered? Was he about to lift her, bed her, _fuck her_ like she’d been begging for this whole time? 

No.

Instead, he set down a small plastic platform on the carpet, only a few centimetres tall, and on top of that, suctioned a well-sized, well-ribbed, hungrily oscillating pink dildo. 

_Jesus, fuck, Fitz._

Jemma’s jaw dropped. If Fitz was nervous about this he was doing a good job not to show it. Then again, she might not have noticed anything short of blindingly obvious, as her mind was clouded with the desire to have that pulsing thing _inside her._ It was no Fitz, but it would do the job, and her lady parts had a very different level of commitment to Fitz than her heart did at this particular moment in time.

 _Oh, please, Fitz,_ begged her doe eyes. 

 _Fuck me,_ insisted her hips, _or I’ll fucking fuck myself._  

“Call it an exercise in instant gratification,” Fitz mused, strolling casually around the room so that he was behind her, and her path to the dildo now unimpeded. “You want it, right? Mm, I know you do baby girl. But we can’t always get what we want. Not right away.” 

He stroked her hair. Jemma was torn. Lean into his touch, or keep staring forward, imagining… 

“I have a proposition for you,” Fitz explained, brushing her hair back and kissing her ear and _oh dear lord don’t make another sound or you’ll lose it all Jemma don’t you dare_. 

“If you can make it two minutes without _pleasuring yourself,”_ he purred, “I will promise you three orgasms before the night is out. But if you cum with that thing, that’s all you’re getting. Sounds fair?” 

She bit her lip. He nibbled her ear, just a little, and gave her a soft huff of laughter, as lighthearted as if he had no idea just what he was doing to her. 

“I even tied you up to give you a fighting chance,” he added, pulling away with a cheerful tone all of a sudden. “Wasn’t that nice of me? See you in two minutes.” 

Behind her, the door open and closed and Jemma felt a rush of cold air brush over her. It was gone in a moment, however, as her mind and body were consumed by the decision. 

One now. Three later. 

She could hold out for two minutes, right?

It was just two minutes.

120 seconds. 119. 118. 

Her hips involuntarily tried to rub against the chair, but all her slick flesh found was an uncomfortably wet seat. Her legs were starting to ache, and she’d almost never wanted to stand up more in her life. The only thing she wanted more than to stand up in this very moment was to get her rocks off, and fuck the two minutes. She could bribe Fitz into more, she was sure, and _that thing_ was _right there…_

He must have had his hands on it, she thought. All over it. Picking it out for her, or maybe even making it, and he must have been thinking about her. Maybe even thinking about _this._

_Oh, yes._

Perhaps this wasn’t a test at all, but a challenge. Her Master may have ordered her to stay in her seat, but her Fitz – the real Fitz, both Fitzs – would be a little disappointed if she didn’t even try. So would she, now that she thought about it. 

Jemma launched forward, throwing the chair off its legs. With nothing to stop her she landed hard, but the carpet was thick and soft. She wriggled until her arms were free of the backboard – though still bound behind her back – and then some more until the spreader bar was disentangled (and for that inelegance, she was glad Fitz had left the room). Then, with all the might of her knees and abdominal muscles, she made it to the dildo. _Oh, so close now._

But how could she get it inside of her? Without her arms, she couldn’t manoeuvre it, or get onto her toes to sit on it. 

So there was nothing for it but to free her arms. 

She wasn’t sure when exactly this had become a race against time to _disobey_ her instructions, but it had. With Houdini-like skill and very-much-not-Houdini-like desperation, she slid her wrists and fingers around in their bonds until something began to unravel. Ah, silk. Strong, but smooth, and loosely tied.

(She smirked to herself. This was a simple knot. He’d definitely wanted her to get out, the cheeky son of a bitch). 

 _I’ll show you,_ she whispered to him as her hands clamped around her prize. It throbbed in her grasp. Hungrily, she pressed it to her desperate flesh, and slipped it inside, and pumped and pumped and pumped - and then she sung, her desire cresting like a wave before she sank into the carpet with relief. 

_Victory._

And it was then that the door swung open. 

“Have you cum yet?” the silhouette of her Master demanded. 

“Sorry, Sir,” she whispered, and though her hand dropped from the dildo she hadn’t the heart to look chagrined. It felt so good inside her, like water in a desert. Even through her aftermath, it was bliss. 

Fitz smiled. “I knew you couldn’t resist it.” 

He took a moment to treasure the image laid out before him: Jemma splayed out on a luscious carpet, exhausted and quite pleased with herself. Her knees trembled, though they couldn’t find rest with the spreader bar still restricting her. The silk ribbon trailed across the floor toward the abandoned chair, and her abandoned underwear, still slick from desire from his first round of teasing. As far as lessons in patience went, she really had done well and he couldn’t bring himself to be disappointed, even in his persona as her Master. 

Instead, he knelt by her and removed the spreader bar. Her legs fell open, but he did not take up the invitation. This night was about her. He sat in the carpet and cradled her, and she blinked her big eyes up at him as if to check on him.

“You did well, baby girl,” he praised, and gave the dildo a few more strokes inside her, relishing her tremors of pleasure as it moved. “I’m proud of you." 

“Thank you, Sir,” Jemma murmured, then bit her lip again – this time not for her own sake, but for his. “Is there any chance you would-?” 

“No,” Fitz interrupted firmly, but gently, and slid the dildo free from her. She whimpered at its emptiness, and he was very nearly tempted to put it back, but he resisted. “You knew the deal. Though I think this means we’ll definitely be playing with our little friend again.” 

“Oh, yes please.” 

Eyes sparkling, her energy peaked for a moment. Fitz kissed her forehead and then her lips, and intertwined their fingers. 

“Are you ready to get up? I have dinner waiting in the other room.” 

“Oh, after that, I don’t-“ 

“Just a little fruit,” he promised. “And there’s chicken and salad for later if you want it.” 

Jemma sighed in satisfaction and prepared to stand. “You really do take care of me.” 

“Of course,” Fitz agreed, and pulled her to her feet in a dancelike motion, and gestured for her to lead the way out. “You’re my girl. It’s what I do.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Fitz + dirty talk.  
> Contains: explicit but non-derogatory dirty talk, praise kink, Fitz being a boob man and Jemma being a lil cheek :P in terms of sex acts: handjob, fondling, sex.
> 
> I'm open to more chapters along this theme. You're welcome to prompt me here or on tumblr. I reserve the right to turn down prompts but [here](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/ApplePie_BananaMilkshakes/profile#faq) are some guidelines for my general approach to smut if you're interested. I also accept non-smut prompts.

Fitz hummed in contentment as his eyes drank in the length of Jemma’s body. She lay still on the bedsheets beside him, not even opening her eyes, so confident was she to do as he’d asked. It had taken a long time to overcome her curious nature, which was tempted to peek in moments like these, but as they’d repeated the exercise over time she had come to find pleasure in the mystery. The very same mystery that Fitz was just now turning over in his head, propped up on one elbow as he admired and pondered where to take them next. What should he say to her? How should he speak it? Where should his hands take him today? To admire Jemma’s delicate wrists and calloused fingers? To learn and relearn the curves of her bright, intelligent face? Or perhaps, to tease between her legs, to taste the heat and the fire that was promised there? 

Fitz’s free hand, the one he was not leaning on, wandered up and down Jemma’s body to his pleasure. He loved the way he could work her from this angle: whispering soft, soothing nothings to calm her down, or passionate promises to work her up. Sometimes both. Watching the stress leach from her body as she lost herself in his voice and his touch. Watching the desire and the vulnerability she preferred to hide from so many others, given freely to him – and not even simply given, but shown off, on display. It was a heady, powerful feeling that had taken, and was still taking, some getting used to, but he was quite enjoying the acclimatization. He had, after all, always been quite good at giving himself over to his passions. 

As passion struck him, Fitz brushed Jemma’s hair away from her shoulders. He ran his hands over her skin until it was smooth and uninterrupted and then, on a whim, he leaned in and kissed one of her breasts. With a smile, he cherished the strangled little gasp of surprise she gave, and teased her until both nipples were pert and eager. He sat back then, and her body shivered, so he ran his hand up and down her torso with a little more pressure now. A slow build.

“Fuck, Jemma, you’re so beautiful,” he purred. Her body struggled not to move into his touch, and he could see her fingers twitch, but she was still breathing through it. Even if her chest was heaving with the effort. His cheeks felt hot, and some other places too, and he bit his tongue. The suit helped him get into the mood, but he’d be damned if it wasn’t a restrictive bloody thing. 

“You like that, baby girl?” he continued, massaging a breast with one hand while trying as desperately and quietly as possible to yank his tie off with the other. Jemma’s soft, supple lips had broken apart to gasp for breath now, and he could already imagine so many more scandalous things for them to be doing. At least, with his tie pulled free, he got some relief, but it would be ungentlemanly to grind his nether regions against her leg, wouldn’t it? It would, right? 

“You know, I love watching your body move,” he said instead. “I love it when you’re naked, all laid out like this, just for me…” 

He kissed her breast again, and then the other, and they were sweet and perfect like two little meringues. He could have sat there forever, tasting and teasing them, were it not for the increasingly uncomfortable pressure below his belt. He’d been quite pleased with himself when he’d thought of the idea to have her stark naked and himself all dressed up, but of course, his hubris was now coming back to bite. He longed for Jemma’s cool hands to soothe the burning need… and then he remembered that, of course, he could have them. 

“Open your eyes.” 

Jemma did, and had to look around for him for a moment. Her breath hitched when she saw him, still entertaining himself with her breasts, and he smiled up at her, quite pleased with himself. She looked a little bewildered, as if she’d been beginning to think she’d been imagining it, and that made Fitz almost unreasonably proud - she did have some positively incredible fantasies, after all. 

“Now, my turn,” Fitz beckoned, and he didn’t even have to try to add the salacious tone to his voice. It was all he could do to turn onto his back, and not kiss his way back up to her mouth and take her right then and there. But no, he had plans, he had desires, he wanted those hands – those _hands…_

“Help me out of these clothes,” he ordered, and Jemma’s eyes sparkled with mischief. Biting her lip against the cheeky smile that was already breaking out, she sat in his lap as daintily as she could, and humbly, unassumingly reached for the collar of his shirt. Slowly, but with a very deliberate air of innocence, she popped one button, then two, until Fitz was forced to order: 

“Lower.” 

She took the lapels of his jacket, and made as if to slide it off his shoulders.

_“Lower.”_

He growled. Jemma looked up into his eyes with a doe-like expression of perfect bewilderment, but she knew exactly what she was doing. She new exactly how far certain parts of her body were from certain parts of his, and how hard those parts were trying to connect with each other. Fitz met her gaze with as much as he could muster of an expression that brooked no argument. Whether she believed him, or was simply rewarding his efforts, the results were the same: she surrendered her game, pulled his belt open, and slipped her hands inside. 

Fitz groaned. Loudly. Wildly. Jemma practically purred. 

“Is this what you wanted, Sir?” she murmured. “You only had to ask. Or would you prefer my lips instead?” 

She pouted coquettishly at him, but Fitz shook his head. Her cool hands rubbing up and down his cock had satisfied the burning need for now, though of course, they’d set another one to brewing. In the meantime, Fitz threw his weight back on his arms and let her work, easing the material out of the way to make her job easier as she had a hundred times before. She knew what she was doing, and Fitz knew he had some time to sit back and enjoy it before pressing on. Some days, he would have let his head loll back and simply let her work, but today he watched her face. It was as though she had to concentrate; as though every stroke was perfectly placed like a delicate dance. Not so. She probably could have had him gone by now if she wanted to, or at least incoherent, but the easy stroking was half the fun of it.

“I love it when you touch me, baby girl,” Fitz praised. “You always know just what to do to give me what I want.”

“Well, I learnt from the best, Sir,” Jemma replied humbly, her eyes still down, watching where she worked. “It’s a pleasure to give back to a man who always knows what I want, too.” 

“What _do_ you want, baby girl?” Fitz asked. “Right now?” 

Jemma’s rhythm changed as she contemplated the possibilities, and stimulated some new nerves. 

“All I want is to please you, Sir,” she replied. Fitz smiled, and chased her eyes a little. Was that a smile he saw? 

“Are you sure?” he pressed. “You don’t want to lick it?” 

She licked her lips, but didn’t look up. Barely skipped a beat. “No, Sir.” 

“You don’t want to get yourself a toy, so we can cum at the same time?” 

“No-“ her breath hitched, and she tried again. “No, sir. Though, if you want to watch me masturbate when you’re finished…”

Fitz clenched a fist in the sheets. Precum was starting to leak over Jemma’s fingers and the coil of desire building up inside him was rapidly headed toward its peak again. Admittedly, he hadn’t heard the word _masturbate_ on many people’s lips before, but he was quite sure only Jemma could make it sound that good. 

“Well,” he pushed on, though breathing was becoming more difficult as words clouded around in his head, and it felt like reaching for any one of them risked stumbling over the edge of his restraint. “Do you want- Do you want me to cum on you or- or inside you?”

At this, Jemma’s eyes snapped up to his face.

“Huh, baby girl?” Fitz pressed, grinning through his breath came in ragged pants. “Would you like that?” 

“Oh, yes sir, I would.” 

“Well, hurry up about it then,” Fitz ushered, blushing as earnest desperation began to show shamelessly through. “We’re dealing with a pro here, I’m not going to last much longer.” 

Of course, Jemma was said pro, and she was hot and heavy enough all on her own. She pulled his pants further down and out of the way with a practiced shimmy and swiftly checked her own wetness – and supplemented it with some of his – and then slid down onto him with a joyous shout. 

“Oh, Fitz!” she cried. 

“Kiss me,” he ordered, voice full of yearning, and Jemma did. She writhed gleefully as Fitz’s arms wrapped around her, holding her to him as he flipped them over so that he could thrust into her with the angle and enthusiasm his body demanded. Letting loose his suddenly ravenous desire, as if starved for the touch of her skin on his lips, Fitz kissed and kissed with passion that matched his thrusts until orgasm overwhelmed him, and then some. He stumbled back down to earth in a sated haze, to be cradled in Jemma’s beloved embrace, murmuring her name.


End file.
